


The Madness Of Colonel Warburton

by Cerdic519



Series: Further Adventures Of Mr. Sherlock Holmes [35]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, F/M, Family, Framing Story, Hampshire, London, M/M, Madness, Poisoning, Scandal, Slow Burn, Unplanned Pregnancy, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 17:23:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15199751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: John Watson's wayward elder brother Henry dies but even in death he makes problems for his family, problems exacerbated by the fact that his legacy may be entangled in a case of murder by poisoning.





	The Madness Of Colonel Warburton

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JayyBee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayyBee/gifts).



_Introduction by Sir Sherrinford Holmes, Baronet_

Several of my brother Sherlock's cases came to him through the offices of an information agency called Middleton's, the sort of people who knew everyone's business even before the nosiest of their neighbours (Kean just made a pointed remark about the proboscis of Lady Amberton next door, which was quite rude if arguably correct). Sherlock told me, just days after Mrs. Watson's funeral, of the storm which was about to break on Watson and worse, that even he was powerless to prevent it. I do not think that I have ever seen him look quite so down.

I remember that after he had left, Kean had remarked that 'love is a powerful emotion'. Only with the benefit of hindsight did I realize that my lover, whose brains more than matched his incredible beauty, had seen something that I, who was perhaps a little too close to things, had as yet not.

Note: Watson's sister Jane, mentioned in this story, was supposed to bring their late brother's pocket-watch for the doctor but she forgot in all the to-do and it was therefore some months later that the item finally came into the doctor's possession and Sherlock was able to deduce so much of the former owner's character ( _The Sign Of The Four_ ).

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

_Narration by Doctor John Hamish Watson, M.D._

Trouble, they say, comes in threes. In the first month of the new year and still reeling from poor Constance's death, I was about to find out just how true that particular old saw was.

I was particularly grateful to Mr. Fitzwilliam Damery, Holmes' most able legal friend. The lawyer acted as a buffer between myself and Constance's family over in the United States (some of whom were less than helpful, it might be said) and, with the help of the wonderful telegraphic system, assisted me through what might otherwise have been a difficult process. It did of course involve some work on my part, and on this particular day I was about to head out on an errand when one of Mrs. Hudson's maids brought up a card from someone downstairs.

“Another client?” I asked as I pulled on my coat.

Sherlock read the card and looked at me somewhat oddly. Even in my depression I had noted that he seemed rather distant these past few weeks, but I had ascribed it to a visit he had had to undertake to see his brother Mycroft, who I knew worked for the government and often demanded (rather than asked for) his assistance.

“You might wish to put your coat off”, he said carefully. “We are to entertain a visit from a Mrs. Jane Meadowbank.”

I looked at him in surprise. My sister who lived with her husband in the vicarage not far from the old family home in Northumberland, some three hundred miles away from her home? What could have brought her to London?

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

My sister was not alone, and the company she had brought with her was almost equally surprising. Not her husband – it would be a cold day in Northumbria before Alan crossed either Tweed or Tyne – but none other than Miss Day from Middleton's, the information agency.

“Henry is dead!” my sister said sorrowfully.

I wish that I had been able to feign a greater degree of surprise, but I had long expected such news. Henry Watson had been my elder brother, named for our father but a pale shadow of that gentleman. My father had been compelled to cut him off after a horrible scandal surrounding a married local lady and I knew that he had subsequently come to London; indeed, my only surprise was that he had not applied to myself for funds despite my frequently straitened circumstances. 

“How did it happen?” I asked carefully.

“He drank himself to death”, my sister sniffed. “The doctors warned him, but he just kept on until....”

She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.

“But there is more”, she said, visibly pulling herself together. “Do you remember some five years back, just before Father finally sent him packing?”

“Henry was seeing a lady from Durham for a time, if I recall”, I said. “I do not remember her name, and nothing came of it.”

“Something came of it all right!” my sister said angrily. “A son!”

I stared at her in shock. Miss Day leant forward.

“I am sorry to add to your troubles just now, doctor”, she said in the sort of tone I had too often used to patients and that I knew meant 'I am just about to', “but when our agency first made the acquaintance of your clever friend, we decided that he might prove most useful to us. Therefore we took the precaution of checking up on everything and everyone in his life.”

“Including me?” I asked incredulously.

“Even including the illustrious Mrs. Hudson”, Miss Day smiled. “I have known several killers whose disguises would have fooled many a man and woman, but she was the most efficient and most _tolerant_ ” - she looked sharply at Holmes, who actually blushed - “landlady that she seemed, and you were indeed a patriotic town doctor. Part of those inquiries naturally involved those closest to you and sorry though I am to say it, your sister is almost certainly correct in her assertions.”

I felt a little indignant at that and I could see that even the normally unflappable Holmes was watching me for my reaction. I huffed but turned back to Jane.

“Who was this 'woman'?” I asked.

“A Miss Elizabeth Bradley, commonly called Eliza”, she said. “Her family is moderately well-off, although socially not on the same level as _ours_.”

I suppressed a smile at that. Jane had always been one for Everyone Knowing Their Place.

“She went and married a Lieutenant Matthew Warburton, whose family hale from Hampshire”, my sister said. “The marriage took place not long after she ended the relationship with Henry, you..... see?”

She was waving her had about as if that made things perfectly clear. Unfortunately I did not 'see'.

“Your sister is implying, probably with good reason, that the paternity of Master Benjamin Warburton is in doubt”, Miss Day said. “He Is most likely your nephew, doctor. Mrs. Warburton claimed that he had arrived six weeks earlier than scheduled, but his weight was what would have been expected for a full-term pregnancy.”

“Miss Day here very kindly communicated with me via the electronic telegraph, and later by letter”, my sister said. “She has been most helpful. What do you think, brother?”

I had probably been around Holmes for too long by this time because I had the distinct impression that there was more to this than I had been told, although that was bad enough. I pulled myself together. First things first.

“Are you needed to be back in Belford?” I asked.

“No”, she said. “Alan said I might have a week here, longer if necessary.”

“Then we shall check you into a hotel, and I shall go to Hampshire to see this boy.”

“What if they refuse to admit you?” she asked, clearly impressed by my Man Of Action approach.

“”I doubt that they will”, Holmes said. “Your brother is correct. With luck this can all be cleared up with one visit to their abode, and we can set your mind at rest before you return north.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Miss Day kindly agreed to escort my sister to a good hotel she knew. Once they were both gone, I turned on Holmes.

“All right”, I said firmly. “Spill!”

“Spill what?” he asked, looking confused.

I almost backed away then, but... no.

“You are keeping something from me”, I said firmly. “I do not believe that Miss Day 'just happened' to help out my sister for one minute. And why did you think that we should not have a problem at the Warburton's house? If I had someone turning up spinning this tale, I would most certainly slam the door in their faces!”

He sighed heavily.

“You are getting quite the detective yourself, doctor”, he said. “Yes, Miss Day did check up on your family as she said, but some two months back she intensified those inquiries when the name 'Warburton' happened across her desk. Colonel Warburton, the lieutenant's father, has shown signs of madness, and Miss Day has reason to suspect that one of his three sons might be attempting to poison him. Hence a consulting detective would have good cause to visit Stoke Fratrum in the course of his inquiries.”

“Where is that?” I asked.

“A small village some miles north of the town of Alresford”, he said. “We can go down there tomorrow, if you wish.”

I was still more than a little annoyed at my being 'checked out', but then I supposed that if they had done it to the estimable Mrs. Hudson, then they had to have done it with me too. Holmes nodded.

“They checked out my family as well”, he said. “Miss Day says that she found the catalogue for my brother's lover's business most intriguing. She is apparently still checking it out – for security purposes of course.”

Of course!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The following day we decamped to Waterloo Station, taking the semi-fast Winchester train and alighting at the aforementioned town of Alresford, the nearest station to Stoke Fratrum. A twenty-minute carriage ride later and we were in the village itself, which was charmingly set in its own little dean and had a small grey-stone church as well as a tavern, the 'Pilgrim’s Rest'. It was quite idyllic, even down to the unusually warm weather and gentle breeze that welcomed us.

Henston Hall itself was a lovely building, just large enough to fulfil the requirements of a manor house but small enough to function like a family home. It was very much the sort of place that I could see myself a squire as, if one of my more obliging clients decided to show their gratitude by bequeathing me all their wealth, or if pigs started flying. Coincidentally we were met by Lieutenant Matthew Warburton, the youngest of the three sons and who was deputizing for his father. Holmes had advised that we arrive on the pretence of his investigating the Colonel's madness, and I had accepted that.

“I am only sorry you came when you did”, he said. “Father had a further attack just last night, and the doctor has ordered him to be sedated.”

We were joined at that moment by his wife, and I thought wryly that this woman might have instead become my sister-in-law. I did not see what even Henry had seen in her – the money most likely, knowing him – but I did note that when we were introduced her initial reaction was one of barely concealed alarm until she heard that we were here to investigate her father-in-law's attacks. 

“My brothers have had to go to Winchester on business”, the lieutenant said. “What brings your attentions to this matter may I ask, Mr. Holmes?”

His manner was not rude, just questioning.

“I did a service for Mr. Stanhope, the Secretary of State for War a little time back”, Holmes said. “As I am sure you appreciate with any large organization, news of the colonel's 'problems' had reached his desk, and he was concerned given the long and loyal service that your father has given to the country. He asked me if I might investigate the matter for him rather than bringing in the Royal Military Police. He felt that such a move would surely attract the vultures of the common press, which is the last thing any of us wants.”

“If you are going to talk business”, Mrs. Warburton smiled, “I had better leave and see if Benjamin has tired poor Nanny out. Hopefully this good weather means he has worked off some of his energy....”

She got no further as the door burst open and a small boy hurtled in, almost falling over his feet in his haste. He hurried up to Mrs. Warburton who, I observed, picked him up in such a way as to keep herself between him and us – but not before I had made one observation which made me almost blanch. I turned back to the lieutenant, and as his wife bustled from the room with her son we resumed our conversation.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“Well?” Holmes said later.

I sighed heavily.

“He must be Henry's son”, I said. “Not only because his mother was clearly nervous when she heard my name, but the eyes. Benjamin Warburton has green eyes, but his mother and father do not. The odds on his being their son are almost infinitesimally small.”

“What will you do?” he asked.

“I do not see that there is anything that I _can_ do”, I said, trying not to sound plaintive. “Neither Jane nor Mary are in a position to take the child on, and I most certainly am not. He is in a happy family environment, whatever one thinks of his mother's past behaviour, and to take him from that would only cause him stress. But I shall endeavour to have a private conversation with Mrs. Warburton before we leave.”

“And if her husband is the one behind his father's madness?” Holmes asked. 

A very small part of me, a very bad part of me, wanted that to be the case. I was sure that Holmes knew, but mercifully he did not press the matter.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

We returned to the Hall the following morning, to be met by the elder Warburton brothers. The inn where we had stayed had proven a treasure-trove of gossip and we knew that there was a significant age gap between George, the eldest, and his siblings Thomas and Matthew, the reason being that Colonel Warburton had married twice. His first wife ('a right floozy' was one of the more printable remarks from the locals) had left him for another man after which he had retired from London society. He had married again sometime after but his second wife, having secured the dynasty with two more sons, had died giving birth to a stillborn daughter. Local opinion was that because of this there had always been bad blood between the Warburton sons, especially the previous year when the colonel had had pneumonia and his eldest son had refused to come home as he had had 'an important business opportunity'.

Mr. George Warburton was in his late thirties, a bluff red-faced fellow tending towards corpulence. He was clearly against our involvement, unlike his brother Thomas who welcomed us. Mr. Thomas Warburton was like the lieutenant in his late twenties, though he shared with his elder brother something of the undertaker in appearance. 

Holmes remained with the brothers whilst I was shown up to see the colonel, who was still under sedation. Doctor Percival Smith was with him and I quickly formed a favourable impression of the older man, agreeing with his diagnosis that the colonel was suffering from madness. Though the cause was a mystery as there was apparently no history of it in the family.

“I have read your story in the magazine”, Doctor Smith said, blushing as if admitting to some cardinal sin rather than such exceptionally good taste in literature, “and I have taken one or two investigative measures myself. I covertly extracted samples of the colonel’s shaving cream and other toiletries for testing but found nothing. However….”

He stopped, looking guilty for some reason.

“What is it?” I pressed.

“I treated Mr. Matthew for a severe chest infection a few weeks ago”, he said slowly. “Whilst I was in his room, I found a book which he had borrowed from the library down in Alresford. It was about certain poisons which can cause madness.”

“Oh”, I said, trying to suppress a most untimely feeling of pleasure at the revelation. “Mr. Matthew.”

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“This is all stuff and nonsense”, Mr. George Warburton said, a little too loudly. 

Holmes had asked all sorts of questions and it was now time for dinner. He had, just after our arrival, been down to the kitchen and somehow persuaded the cook to produce the same meal as on the day the colonel’s madness had last flared up. There was only the six of us; little Benjamin Warburton was eating with his nanny.

“It is my opinion that something the colonel ingested that day brought on his madness”, Holmes said firmly. “Now, all of you were at that fateful meal. I need to know who ate or didn’t eat which dish.”

Amidst a lot of discussion, the meal progressed slowly. It had been a Sunday, so it had been roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and vegetables, followed by blancmange for dessert and then coffee. There was some little disagreement over who had eaten what, but the general upshot was that the colonel did not eat anything which had not also been eaten by at least one of the other people at the table. I fully expected Holmes to look disappointed at that but to my surprise he did not.

“The old man was sulking, I remember”, Lieutenant Warburton said. “That fool of a doctor had left a list of things he couldn’t eat because they might start him off again, and blancmange was on it.”

_(Before I am assailed by representatives of the blancmange industry, I should clarify that statement with the fact that this was a lemon blancmange, and the citric acid used in its preparation had been the reason for the prohibition)._

“What did he have instead?” Holmes asked.

“The remains of an apple pie from the day before, with custard”, George Warburton said. “He and I had half each; I hate anything lemon!”

Holmes nodded at that.

”So there was no way that he could have been poisoned at the dinner table, then?” Mr. Thomas Warburton asked.

“He was not”, Holmes said. Mr. George Warburton stared at him.

“But you said…..” he began.

“I said that something he ingested that day brought on his madness”, Holmes explained. “I did not say that that something came from his _main meal_. But since his attacks occurred when they did, then allowing for the process of digestion he clearly ate something else very soon after that meal. I shall have to make further inquiries to find out what it was.” 

He turned to Mr. George Warburton.

“I have a feeling that the colonel may have been given something in his room”, he said. “With your permission, I would like to search it...”

“No!” Mr. George Warburton snorted. “That is a complete invasion of privacy!”

I wondered at that vehemence.

“We could have the old man moved to another room whilst he is under”, Thomas Warburton offered. 

“Doctor Smith has him under sedation”, I pointed out. “Moving him at this time would be unwise. It would be better to wait until tomorrow morning when it is mostly worn off, and he can be helped there under his own steam.”

“Then we shall return first thing tomorrow morning”, Holmes said firmly. 

Mr. George Warburton scowled but said nothing.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“Do you think that you will find anything in the colonel's room?” I asked as the carriage took us back to the inn. He turned to look at me.

“Watson”, he said carefully, “I presume that you have brought your gun down with you?”

A pleasurable chill ran down my spine.

“Yes”, I said excitedly.

“Then tonight we are going hunting”, he said.

“What for?” I asked, puzzled.

“A murderer.”

I looked at him in confusion, but clearly he would say no more. Damnation!

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

I was not surprised when our night trip took us back to the Hall. Holmes went round the back, and easily opened one of the windows there.

“I left a couple open when I was here earlier”, he explained. “It pays to be prepared.”

We entered into a small sitting-room and Holmes checked to see if the coast was clear before leading me out into the corridor. I noted that he had chosen a window near the back stairs, and we were able to reach the first floor easily. Holmes moved silently along – even though I was on tiptoes, my own steps sounded loud in comparison – until he reached a door which he opened carefully.

“This is but a store-cupboard”, he explained, “but it has a clear view of the colonel's door. We may have a long wait, friend. I would assume that our poisoner would wish to wait until the small hours of the morning, when they could be more certain that everyone else in the house was asleep, before trying anything.”

I tried not to think about the fact that Holmes had said 'they' rather than the usual 'he'. I had not considered – or rather, had not wanted to consider - Mrs. Warburton as a potential suspect as she was.... a woman.

My friend was proved right about our quarry and it must have been after three o'clock that we finally heard movement, someone edging along the corridor and trying to keep quiet. There was the faintest of creaks followed by the soft closing of the bedroom door. After what seemed like an age it opened again, and this time the night walker was moving almost directly towards us. As they passed the only window in the corridor I could finally see their face in the faint moonlight from the nearby window. I was hard put to suppress a gasp.

The figure passed on, presumably to their own bedroom. After a few moments Holmes nudged me and we made our way silently from the house.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

The following morning, Holmes and I made certain preparations before our visit to the Hall, arriving there shortly after nine o'clock. I went upstairs to make a quick check on the colonel's state of health, and returned ten minutes later to find my friend in the room with the four Warburtons.

“So you still wish to check the old man's room today, then?” Mr. Thomas Warburton asked.

“I no longer need to”, Holmes said airily. “I know who the poisoner was, I know how it was done, and most importantly of all I have _proof!”_

They all stared at him in shock.

“How?” Lieutenant Warburton asked suspiciously. “Where from?”

Holmes looked at me, and I solemnly handed him a small white envelope. He walked over to the desk in the room and carefully arranged a writing pad before tipping out a small quantity of ash from the envelope, which he resealed. The four Warburtons watched him in fascination. Holmes looked pointedly at Mr. Thomas Warburton.

“It was your own kindness that gave you away”, he said quietly, so much that I could barely hear him. “You knew that your father was restricted in the things that he could eat, and you knew that he would resent not being able to have the same dessert as the rest of you. So you arranged an extra little treat for him. He has a weakness for cherries – your staff told me - so you purchased some from the village shop that morning and gave them to him in his room after luncheon.”

Mr. Thomas Warburton had gone deathly pale.

“No!” he stammered. 

“Watson asked Doctor Smith about his examination of the colonel after he sedated him”, Holmes said, “and although I know you all have a low opinion of him, it was his acute observational skills that set me on the right track. He said that he was confused over one matter. Although the colonel had apple-pie for luncheon, his teeth were stained as if he had been eating some sort of dark fruit.”

The three other Warburtons were now all eyeing Mr. Thomas warily.

“Tommy”, his elder brother said. “Why?”

Holmes held up his hand for silence.

“I said that there was proof”, he said. “I am afraid that I had to undertake a small deception to get it. In my brief time in your father's room yesterday, I found the remains of the cherry stalks in a small waste-paper basket. It struck me that, if the murderer realized that this evidence might connect them to the crime then they would move quickly to destroy it. Last night one of you entered your father's room and retrieved those stalks, then took them back to their own room and placed them in their fireplace.”

He stood back from the desk.

“I doubt that you are aware of it”, he said, “but science had progressed amazingly these past few years. It is now possible to examine the ash from a fire, and by chemical analysis deduce _exactly_ what was burnt in that fire. My second deception involved the good doctor here, who as well as checking on your father visited the murderer's room and extracted these ashes from the fireplace there. These prove who the murderer is.”

At that most untimely moment the door opened and a familiar figure ran into the room. It was little Benjamin Warburton. He smiled and ran over to his mother, his path taking him by his uncles. 

I saw the flash of a knife almost too late. Mr. George Warburton's face suddenly twisted in rage as he reached for the boy, clearly determined to use him to make his escape. I did not hesitate, snarling my fury and flying across the distance between us so fast that I knocked Mr. Thomas Warburton clean over. My hands fasted around the murderer's neck and I pressed him back into the fireplace, my eyes black with anger.

“Watson!”

It was Holmes' voice as calm as ever, Holmes' hand placed gently on my shoulder, and I slowly realized that I was actually trying to kill a fellow human being. My grip relaxed and I dimly heard Mrs. Warburton and her husband hustling their son from the room, her brother-in-law summoning a servant and ordering them to fetch the local constable. All I could feel was Holmes' hand on my shoulder, bringing me back to reality as the wretch that I had nearly strangled lay before me.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

“So how did Mr. George Warburton manage to poison the cherries?” I asked.

It was probably the first words that I had spoken since the attack. I had left the Hall in silence and had not spoken all evening whilst trying to come to terms with the sheer fury that I had felt, the demon inside me that had gone for Mr. George Warburton intending to kill him. Holmes looked at me curiously.

“I would presume that he called for his brother on his way down to luncheon, saw the cherries, and guessed what he would do”, he said. “He was waiting for just such an opportunity.”

I nodded, but said nothing. Holmes sighed.

“Watson”, he said, “you are once again being too hard on yourself. You saw your own flesh and blood being threatened and you reacted accordingly. Everyone has a point at which they break, something which will make them react like that.”

Fortunately I was distracted from my fretting by the arrival of a servant with a card, which Holmes accepted. He looked curiously at me.

“Although I rather think you have a more important matter to address just now anyway”, he said. “Mrs. Warburton is downstairs, and I doubt she is calling to thank us for securing her brother-in-law's likely execution.”

I nodded dumbly, pulled myself together and left to see the woman waiting for me.

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩

Fortunately the meeting with Mrs. Warburton went better than I had expected. She confirmed that she had been all but engaged to her future husband when poor Henry had tried to woo her – that my feckless brother would let something as unimportant as an engagement with another man stand between him and what he wanted did not surprise me in the least – and with the dates she confirmed and her son's eye colour, it was all but certain that Benjamin Warburton was my nephew. She was clearly fearful that I might use the courts in an attempt to take the boy away from her, but much as it went against my sense of family I knew that there was no real choice here. The boy had had four years of a stable upbringing and his father and mother were clearly happy together. I would have been cruel to have tried to stop that. I did however insist on two things; that I be allowed to place some money into a bank account for the boy every year for Christmas and his birthday, and that when that money was given to him on attaining his majority some seventeen years hence, his mother would tell him the truth about his past. 

Of course things did not work out that way, but when did they ever?

۩۩۩۩V♔RI۩۩۩۩


End file.
